


Distant Sun

by Tuttle4077



Series: Evil Scientist Universe [3]
Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuttle4077/pseuds/Tuttle4077
Summary: LeBeau has made some rash decisions in the past without any real consequences- rescuing Wooden Shoe, stealing priceless paintings. But it can't always turn out well, can it?Sequel to Supermen
Series: Evil Scientist Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113392





	1. Prologue

**Paris, France**

**October 8th, 1933**

He couldn't believe it. His life was over.

The day had started out so well. An influential and powerful critic had tried his Blanquette de Veau, and sang its praises. Soon, his name would be the toast of the town, and he would be one step closer to opening his own restaurant. It might still take years of hard work, but it was something to hold onto.

All the way home, he walked on a cloud, dreaming of the future- only to have his present crumble before him the moment he opened the door.

His wife, Hélène, stood just inside the apartment, struggling to carry a large, overflowing brown suitcase. She looked surprised to see him, but her expression quickly turned sheepish as she dropped the case and hid her face from him.

"You're home," she said quietly.

"I left early," he explained simply, as his mind raced to put together what was going on.

"Of course," she replied with a hint of remorse. "Today, you left early."

They stood in silence, Hélène looking down at her case as she dug her toe into the carpet. He tapped his fists against his thighs, wondering what to do next. It quickly became obvious to him that she was leaving, but he was at a loss as to why. Something deep inside his heart yelled at him, telling him he should have expected this- that it had been building quietly for a long time- but he ignored it. Instead, he felt blind-sided.

Hesitantly, he gestured to her bag. "Where are you going?"

She hugged herself and rocked back slightly before looking at him with teary brown eyes. "I'm leaving."

His heart dropped into his stomach. "But why?"

She threw her head back and shook it, letting out a shaky laugh. "Oh Louis," she said before covering her mouth and rubbing it. She sniffed and dropped her head again, keeping her hand on her mouth.

"What is it, Hélène?" he pleaded. "What have I done? Whatever it is, I will stop. Whatever I haven't done, I will do. Please, please Hélène, just tell me."

She left out a little sigh and shook her head again before looking over at him. "Oh Louis, no. No. It cannot be fixed."

"But why? What is it? What has led you to this?"

She took a deep breath and straightened herself out. She was taller than he was, although not by much, and she seemed to be using the difference to give herself confidence. "I cannot do it anymore. I cannot be ignored."

"I do not ignore you!" he insisted, offended by the accusation.

"But you do," she said ruefully. "I never see you. You are always at the restaurant. You are never home. And when you are home-" she waved her hand in the air- "all you talk about is the restaurant, about your new recipe. Never do you ask about me."

He was gobsmacked, but his disbelief gave way to anger. "But I do all this for you! I work myself to the bone so that one day I can give you all you deserve."

"I believed that for a long time, but I don't anymore. You love someone else. Something else. It's not even your own restaurant, and yet it is your mistress. I cannot imagine what will happen when Chez LeBeau opens one day."

"But it will be different. I will be different. I can change. Today!" he promised desperately.

"It's too late, my love. I need to go."

"No. Please!" he blocked the door. "I will not let you go."

"But you already have."

She looked pained to say it and it pierced him like an arrow. Whatever he thought of the matter, she clearly felt it was true- she wasn't one to make decisions and speak lightly. The woman before him, whose sparkling smile and charm had once lit a room, now looked small, grey, and supremely unhappy. He couldn't bear the idea that he had done that to her.

"I will do better," he promised. "I do not have to be a chef. I can work in the rail yard. I will dig ditches. I will do anything you need."

She shook her head. "No. No, Louis, you will not. You should not. You have a gift, and you should not waste it for me."

"But without you, I am nothing," he professed earnestly. "I will spit on my whisk and throw it into the Seine, just, please, stay."

"And will you cut off your hands as well? Stuff your nose and pull out your tongue? Cooking, food, your passion, it is a part of you. You will live without me, but I cannot ask a fish to stop swimming, and a bird in a cage can never be happy."

"Very poetic," he said bitterly.

She heaved a great sigh. "I am not trying to hurt you."

"So this is all for my own good?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But I know it's for mine," she said. Reaching down, she lifted her case off the ground and leaned back as she pulled it up. "I am going to live for me now." And with that, she walked towards the door, but stopped when she came to him and didn't try to push past him. Instead she stood in silence, her eyes fixed on a spot behind him.

He fumbled through a million thoughts, trying to come up with some argument to get her to stay. If she would only stay the night, things would look differently in the morning. She would realize this was all foolishness and things could go back to the way they were.

But those thoughts quickly gave way to pride, hurt, and anger. She was the one who had lost sight of things. She knew who he was, and now she was giving up on him. She had stoked the fires of his dreams, but found the heat intolerable.

Well then, who was he to stop her from leaving?

He stepped aside to let her pass. She took a deep breath and marched forward, but paused beside him. "You will be wonderful, Louis. But you will have to be wonderful without me." And with that, she brushed past him into the hall, the familiar scent of her perfume lingering in the air and teasing him cruelly.

He listened to the sound of her heels clicking as she left. His emotions jumbled together like a drawer of strings and he couldn't make sense of them. Nothing made sense. Nothing could ever make sense again.

"Is there someone else?" he suddenly asked.

Her footsteps stopped. He dared to look over, but couldn't bring his gaze to her face. Instead he glued his eyes to her feet. They turned slightly as if maybe she would return to him, but then continued down the hall and soon disappeared from view.

Louis LeBeau was alone.


	2. Yearly Tradition

**Luft Stalag 13, Germany**

**October 8th, 1943**

Louis LeBeau was alone.

It was just as well; he was in a foul mood. Everyone else was outside, enjoying the last vestiges of good weather. It would be too cold to go out soon. There was already a chill in the air and the trees were on fire with orange and red leaves which too soon would go brown and blow away in the wind.

Autumn had once been his favourite time of year. Spices smelled richer, and the warmth of the stove felt comforting, the crisp air reminded him of freshly-made bread and creamy soups.

But that was a long time ago. Now when the leaves turned, he felt an indelible sense of melancholy. Old comforts dulled, and he felt much like a bear, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep until spring returned.

But there was work to be done. Always work to be done. Right now there were four escaped prisoners down in the tunnels that needed food and it was his job to keep them fed. They had recently escaped from a nearby camp and were waiting until they could be transferred to a sub. Whenever they got a new batch of escapees, it was a stark reminder that Stalag 13 was special. There was always enough to eat. Other camps weren't so lucky and this latest batch of prisoners was worryingly thin.

So with a little more force than strictly necessary, LeBeau stirred up some batter in a bowl. Though therapeutic, it wasn't enough to alter his bad humour.

The barracks door slowly opened. "Hoo boy, am I beat."

LeBeau looked up from his bowl to see Faux Olsen trudge in. The Texan was part of the crew that just arrived and, seeing his opportunity, Olsen had turned over his bunk and headed into town to… to do whatever it was that he did while on the outside.

Faux Olsen- LeBeau didn't particularly care to learn his name- took in a deep breath. "Sure smells good, Shorty. Be sure to save me some?" And with that, he dragged himself to Olsen's bunk and fell in.

LeBeau sighed and set aside his bowl before going over and covering the man up with a blanket. He had just resumed his dinner prep when Newkirk poked his nose in. "LeBeau, did- oh." Newkirk cast a glance at Faux Olsen and frowned. "There he is. Sorry, he slipped away before I could stop him. Do you want me to wake him up and take him back out?"

Newkirk knew that today of all days LeBeau liked to be alone. And he was one of the few who knew why. LeBeau had been grateful when, not long after roll call, the Englishman had announced their third annual football tournament, taking the entire barracks crew with him. He was a good friend and LeBeau felt his heart soften a little.

"Merci, mais non." LeBeau might have been in a bad mood, but that didn't make him heartless. "Look, he is already asleep," he said. Sure enough, Faux Olsen was snoring in his bunk."I will be all right."

Newkirk nodded and offered a small smile. "Course you will. I'm off then." Newkirk slipped back out the door.

LeBeau sighed. Yes, he would be all right. But this day was always hard. It had been ten years- ten years since his wife had upped and left him. The hurt should have long healed over. After all, he had had other loves since, fleeting though they were. But every year his thoughts stubbornly turned to her, to that day, and he could never shake the feeling that he had let the love of his life slip away. That without her there was just something missing- a hole in his heart that would never really be filled. He wished he could go back and do something to change it all. But, of course, he couldn't and it was madness to torture himself with those thoughts.

But torture himself he did. Every year.

Now alone and in silence- save Faux Olsen's soft snores- he continued to prepare his meal as his mind wandered back through time. Every memory of her pricked his heart. He remembered her laugh and how magical it sounded, like the ringing of fairy bells. He remembered watching her as she brushed her chestnut hair in the mirror before bed. He remembered how soft and warm she was and how all his cares seemed to melt away when she held him in her arms. He remembered her perfume as if it were there in the room right now.

And he remembered how one day, out of the blue, she had taken his heart and stomped it into the ground. And suddenly, all those cherished memories, those tender moments, drowned in a sea of bitterness and regret.

And that was how it went- wistfulness was replaced with sorrow only to be overshadowed by resentment- until the meal was ready. It was only a matter of time before the guards broke up the football game and sent everyone into their barracks and his solitude would be disrupted.

LeBeau gathered the food into a basket, setting aside some for his hut mates while making sure Faux Olsen got an extra bit on his plate. Then he opened the tunnel entrance and hooked the basket onto the pulley system they used to lower heavy objects down. After climbing down the ladder he closed the trap and grabbed the basket. He made his way through the tunnel to the guest quarters. They were small and cramped, but the prisoners who used them had seen worse. Besides, they were only meant to be temporary lodgings. It rarely took more than a week to process them and hand them over to the underground.

The men were expecting him. "Perfect. Right on time," one of them said as he took the basket from LeBeau.

"We were getting hungry," another added.

"Yeah, let's eat."

The prisoners set the basket on their little table and started passing out the food. LeBeau lingered in the doorway for a moment, but they had forgotten him. LeBeau sighed. Three days. It had taken three days for them to stop saying thank you.

LeBeau kicked at loose clumps of dirt as he wandered back through the tunnels.

He loved to cook, he really did; it was part of his soul. But it was discouraging to have his skills taken for granted. Even his hut mates just expected him to turn out a masterpiece after masterpiece with impossible regularity. It would serve them right if he made them eat in the camp mess more often than they already did.

But even though they rarely expressed their gratitude anymore, he knew they appreciated it. At the very least, they didn't resent him for it. Unlike her.

There he went again; he couldn't go five minutes without thinking about her.

LeBeau checked his watch. Three hours until roll call. He could last three hours. And then he could put this miserable day behind him and stop thinking about her for one more year.


	3. Stress Sundae

Colonel Hogan was in no hurry to get back inside after the guards broke up the football game. He rarely joined in on such games- for one thing, he usually was dealing with some sort of crisis, and for another, he was an officer and, despite how close he was to his men, he still needed to maintain some sense of distance between himself and the enlisted ranks. But when Newkirk had declared it an annual tradition of sorts, he felt compelled to join in and it had been quite refreshing. It was nice to cast off his burdens for just a moment and let loose.

As soon as the guards broke up the game, however, he felt the weight of those burdens settle back on his shoulders, pushing down on him as he walked back to the hut.

A few weeks ago, he and his team had destroyed a Nazi research facility which housed a truly strange project- one which attempted to bestow godlike powers on its subjects and build a super army for Germany. London had wanted their hands on the research, but after considering the dangers of possessing such powers, he and his men had destroyed all the information. London had not been pleased and had threatened to discuss Hogan's failure. When, where, and with whom that discussion would occur, Hogan could only speculate, but he felt as if the Sword of Damocles was hanging over his head.

More worrying were that some of his men were exposed to the experiment themselves. Carter, still serving out his sentence in the cooler, seemed all right, but lately hadn't been venturing into the tunnels as often, preferring, apparently, to stay in his cell. Private Hoffmann had returned from the ordeal with a dangerously high fever that had raged for several days. Since recovering, he was also keeping to himself. Private Wagner, who had only witnessed the experiment, had gone mute- three weeks later and he still wasn't speaking, though his bunkmate reported that he had started to mumble in his fitful sleep.

The only one he didn't worry about was, ironically, the man who had been shot. Sergeant Klein's shoulder was on its way to a full recovery and the master forger was already back to work, overseeing the paperwork needed for the four transient POWs in camp.

And there was another thing. Somehow he had to get five men out of camp. Not a monumental task- after all, they had just shipped off eight SS men- but it still required planning and preparation and a number of things could always go wrong.

And the cherry on top of his stress sundae was that he had a meeting with an underground agent tonight. Usually a meeting like this would take place in secret, in an abandoned barn, or a deserted roadside, but Cinderella had insisted they meet at a local restaurant. Hogan wasn't keen on a public meeting point, but Cinderella was trustworthy enough, so it was worth taking the chance.

Hogan's thoughts blurred his journey back to the barracks and, before he knew it, he was through the door and mechanically pouring himself a cup of coffee. A fresh meal was set out on the table, waiting for them. As always, it smelled delicious, and that pulled him back into reality.

"Smells good, LeBeau," Hogan said as he grabbed a plate. From his bunk, LeBeau just grunted, causing Hogan to frown. He had noticed during morning roll call that LeBeau had been in a bad mood and now he wondered how long it would last. Maybe he simply woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but if not- well, Hogan wasn't sure he could handle any more drama at the moment.

"Sure does," Corporal Jones- Olsen's temporary replacement- said with a loud yawn as he sat up in his bunk and rubbed his eyes. "Dadgum, you boys eat pretty good here. Never knew you could do so much with spam. That little fellow over there is a miracle worker!"

"He's the best," Kinch agreed from his spot at the table.

"Don't know what we'd do without him," Newkirk said with uncharacteristic charity. Hogan arched an eyebrow and looked over at LeBeau who was pretending not to notice them.

"Don't suppose that outside man of yours will stay away awhile? I could get used to this," Jones said as he took his spot at the table and shoved a forkful of food in his mouth.

Hogan shrugged. "Olsen's like a cat- he comes and goes as he pleases provided there's someone here to cover for him. Could be a week, could be a month."

"Fine by me," Jones said. "Though I suppose you'll be switching me out with one of the boys downstairs soon enough?"

Hogan nodded. The trick was to replace Olsen often enough that the guards didn't have a chance to commit his face to memory. Schultz was the only one who really knew what Olsen was _supposed_ to look like, but the occasional supply of chocolate and a few veiled threats were enough to make him forget.

"Don't worry, LeBeau will still feed you," Kinch said with a small smile. Jones grinned and tucked in some more food.

"Ah, oui, I will feed you," LeBeau said peevishly. "That is all I do around here, non? Cook? Well, at least you all appreciate it. Not everyone did."

"Oh bloody hell," Private Fuller groaned. "I forgot what day it was." Newkirk elbowed him sharply in the gut.

"Oui, it is that day! And I will wallow if I want!" LeBeau cried as he jumped off his bed. "Enjoy the food! I am going out!" LeBeau grabbed his coat and stormed out of the barracks.

Confused, Hogan looked between Newkirk and Fuller. They had known LeBeau the longest and they also seemed to know what was causing his bad mood.

Newkirk raised his hands. "Not my place, sir. But I wouldn't worry about him, he'll be all right by tomorrow."

Fuller didn't look like he wanted to elucidate the problem either. While frustrating, Hogan figured that, unless the problem was going to get in the way of doing his job, LeBeau wasn't obliged to tell him.

"You know, I can't figure that littler feller out," Jones said as he mopped up some potatoes with a biscuit. "One minute he's as sweet as honey, tucking me in all nice, and the next, he's madder than a wet hen."

"Well he's a fairy," Newkirk said absently.

"I'm sorry, he's a what now?" Hogan said, slightly amused as all eyes turned to Newkirk as they awaited an explanation.

Newkirk rolled his eyes and gave a disapproving tsk. "Like in the book, Peter Pan. Fairies are so small that they can only have one emotion at a time. LeBeau's like that. One emotion takes over and blocks out all his common sense. Just give him time and he'll be back to his usual level of orneriness."

"I hope so. I'm meeting with Cinderella tonight and who knows what he has waiting for us," Hogan said.

"Nothing we can't handle, I'm sure, Colonel," Kinch said. "No matter how ornery LeBeau is."


	4. Mutually Assured Destruction

Not long after roll call, Hogan found himself walking through the streets of Hammelburg, dressed in civilian clothes. His senses were on high alert and he was keenly aware of everything and everyone around him. Hammelburg was a somewhat sleepy little town, but it was never a good idea to let his guard down. The town boasted a formidable Gestapo presence and it was likely he would at least pass by an agent.

He glanced at the street sign and then his watch. He was close to the restaurant with a few minutes to spare. He deliberately kept a steady pace instead of hurrying the last few blocks, and soon he was entering the restaurant. A cursory glance of the establishment offered some relief. It was moderately busy- they wouldn't stand out, but it also wasn't so busy that they couldn't have some privacy with their conversation. And none of the patrons immediately stood out as a threat though that didn't necessarily mean they weren't.

He caught sight of Cinderella, sitting in the corner with another man. Hogan instantly went on alert. He didn't recognize the man, and anyone new was an immediate cause for suspicion.

Cinderella saw him too and waved him over. When he approached, Cinderella stood, shook his hand and put his other hand on Hogan's shoulder as if he were greeting an old friend.

"Ah, Gunter, I am glad you could join us," Cinderella said, casually. "This is my friend, Herr Vahlen."

"Herr Vahlen," Hogan said, shaking his hand. He glanced over at Cinderella who nodded imperceptibly. At least as far as Cinderella was concerned, Vahlen could be trusted.

Hogan sat at the table and he and Cinderella made inane small talk while waiting for their order to be taken and the food to arrive. Once they were sure there would be no interruptions, they got down to business.

"Now, what's this meeting about?" Hogan asked curtly.

Vahlen looked around hesitantly and leaned forward slightly. "Heinrich told me you could help me," he said in a low voice.

"Maybe," Hogan said noncommittally.

"Perhaps you have heard of me, Gunter? I am Manfred Vahlen." Hogan searched his memory, and vaguely connected the name with steel production. "Never mind. It's enough to say that I have many connections."

"And you're here because of one of those connections."

Vahlen nodded. "About two weeks ago I received a call from a friend of mine, Colonel Kisling; he commands a research unit. He told me their facility had recently been bombed and asked if I would be kind enough to house his scientists until they could move into a new facility.

"Of course, I could not refuse even if I wanted to. And I did not mind either. I am not a political man, Gunter- I am proud to serve my country however I can."

"Then why are you here?" Hogan asked suspiciously, casting another wary glance towards Cinderella.

"I was content to remain ignorant, but I unwittingly learned about the research my friend is conducting. And while I may not be political," Vahlen said, "I cannot say I want to see the balance of power in the world to shift to the Nazis, neither do I want to see the world destroyed."

Hogan wasn't very impressed. It was, after all, passive men such as this that had allowed the Nazis to take power in the first place. On the other hand, it did take a great deal of courage for an average civilian to reach out and contact the underground. The one thing you couldn't trust in Germany these days was another German, and Hogan imagined trying to find someone who would help instead of turning you into the Gestapo was a terrifying prospect.

"All right, so what is this research?"

Again, Vahlen hesitated. "Before I continue, you must promise to do this my way," he said firmly.

Hogan grimaced. He didn't like a plan being out of his control and he certainly didn't like having a civilian push him around.

"Sorry, no deal," Hogan said. He put his hands on the table and began to push himself out of his seat. Frantically, Vahlen reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"No, wait, please."

Hogan grunted, but settled back into his seat, giving Vahlen an impatient look.

"Please, you must understand, this unit is stationed at my home, and I have a family. I am not willing to put them at more risk than is necessary, even for something as important as this."

"And just what is this, exactly," Hogan pressed again.

"I can only describe it as a… sun gun," Vahlen said in a low, uncertain voice.

"A sun gun?" Hogan repeated skeptically.

Vahlen nodded. "Yes. A giant glass in space that can focus the energy of the sun on any spot in the world and completely obliterate it- much like a magnifying glass on an ant, only so much more powerful."

It sounded like something out of a science fiction novel, and not a particularly good one. A few months ago, Hogan would have dismissed it as impossible, but since then he had seen radio brainwashing and supermen, so he was willing to entertain the notion that Nazi scientists could do just about anything.

"I know it sounds absurd, but-" Vahlen began earnestly, but Hogan held up a hand to cut him off.

"No, I believe you," Hogan said. "If you give us the coordinates, we'll arrange for a bombing."

"I'm afraid that will do you no good. The unit is currently in my cellar; it could withstand a thousand bombings. Besides, as I have said, I have a family and I am not willing to put them in any more danger than I already am." He looked over at Cinderella. "Perhaps this was a mistake," he said. He then proceeded to mimic Hogan's earlier move of leaving the table.

Hogan sighed. "No, wait. Just what are you proposing?"

Vahlen sat back down. "Before the war, my wife often hosted very fine dinner parties. When Heinrich told me one of your men was a chef, I suggested that we might have another for the scientists while they are our guests. It was not hard to convince Kisling- he was often at those parties and said his men would welcome the break in their routine. Your man can come cook while the rest of you pose as waiters. I am sure you will find the opportunity to copy the research then."

"Copies won't stop the Nazis from developing this sun gun," Hogan pointed out.

"No," Vahlen said, shaking his head. "But if you destroy it, I will be a suspect. Perhaps we could wait until the unit is rehoused- if they ever are- but then I doubt I will know where they have moved and the opportunity will be lost.

"If you copy the research though then perhaps both sides will develop the weapon, but no one will use it out of fear of reprisals," Vahlen said.

Hogan mulled that over in his head. "So a sort of… mutually assured destruction."

"Exactly," Vahlen said. "There will be balance."

Hogan couldn't say he was a fan of the idea. If such a weapon had to exist- and he supposed it did since everyone was trying to come up with an ultimate weapon- he rather it existed on his side only.

"If we destroy the research, we can get you and your family safely to London," Hogan offered.

"You can do that?" Vahlen looked surprised and Hogan could practically see the wheels in his head turning which only increased his suspicion of the man. But then he quickly shook his head. "No. I have too much business to conduct here in Germany. You can help me my way, Gunter, or you cannot help at all. As I said, I am not political. I have no great love for the Nazis, but I also do not hate them any more than any other party. Nazis, Communists, Monarchists, it makes no difference to me so long as I can conduct my business."

Hogan was appalled. He wondered how a man could be so hollow, with no morals, no fire in his belly, just a love of money. Vahlen might not have wanted the destruction of the planet, but he probably had no qualms about profiting from the war and, as a steel manufacturer, he was probably making a pretty penny.

Perhaps he could appeal to his greed- America, after all, was the land of opportunity and a man like Vahlen could surely double his wealth in a very short time. But, the man seemed adamant about staying in Germany and his home. If Hogan pushed any further, he might just call the whole arrangement off.

"You know, sitting on the fence only gets you a picket up the butt," Hogan warned.

Vahlen shrugged. "It has not done so yet. Now, do we have a deal?"

Hogan chewed on his cheek as he considered his options. "All right. We have a deal."

They spent the next half hour going over details. Finally, Vahlen stood and nodded to Cinderella and Hogan. "I will see you on Sunday then. I trust when you come, you will not try to destroy the information anyway. I would hate to turn you into the Gestapo."

"That would only get you in trouble too," Hogan pointed out. "This was your idea."

Vahlen just smirked. "It is as you said, Gunter- mutually assured destruction. A man such as yourself must have a healthy sense of self-preservation or I suspect you wouldn't last in this business long." And with that, he left.

Cinderella and Hogan exchanged an uncomfortable look. "How do we know this is not a trap," Hogan asked.

"I've known Manfred for years. He is a good man. His charity work before the war and even now is spectacular. It is probably why Hitler tolerates his apolitical philosophy. I do not think… that is, I believe he is genuine," Cinderella said with a hint of uncertainty. That didn't do much to assuage Hogan's suspicions. "Maybe we should forget the whole thing," Cinderella ventured tentatively. "After all a sun gun? It does sound absurd. I should have vetted his information better before we met with you, but I thought… Papa Bear, if it _is_ true..."

Hogan sighed. "If it is true then we have no choice."


	5. The Violin

"No," Newkirk said with a sour expression as he inspected the cigarette he was rolling between his fingers. "I vote no."

Hogan and his team were gathered in his office, huddled around his desk and discussing his meeting with Cinderella and Vahlen. They met the plan with the same trepidation Hogan had.

"Why can't we just destroy the research?" Carter asked. "A weapon like that just shouldn't exist."

"Absolute power?" Newkirk asked, casting a sideways glance to Carter.

"Something like that," Carter mumbled.

"We could, but Vahlen said he would turn us over to the Gestapo," Hogan said.

"So we eliminate Vahlen along with the research," LeBeau suggested.

"That's an ugly business, LeBeau," Kinch said.

LeBeau shrugged. "What is one more German?"

"He's a civilian, remember," Hogan said tersely. "It's one thing to knock off someone in uniform, but we can't just go around eliminating civilians right and left- _especially_ civilians who bring us information. I'd like to remind you that our relationship with the underground is built on trust. If it gets out that we'll double cross our informants, you can forget about getting their help in the future."

LeBeau ducked his head sheepishly. "Sorry, mon colonel."

"But what if it's a trap," Newkirk said seriously.

"I've thought of that," Hogan said. He still didn't have a good answer, but he had thought about it. "Cinderella says we can trust him."

"Oh well then, if Cinderella says," Newkirk groaned.

"I think we ought to do it, Colonel," Carter said.

"Me too," Kinch agreed.

LeBeau thought about it for a moment. "No doubt the Boche would target Paris first- as if they have not done enough to her. All right, I will go. You know how I love to cook for Germans."

All eyes turned to Newkirk. He tried to hide his face so he wouldn't have to make eye contact. But, soon enough, he took a long drag of his cigarette. "Oh well, who wants to live forever?"

"That's the spirit," Hogan said with a half-smile.

"Colonel, do you think we ought to tell London about this?" Kinch asked seriously.

Hogan stopped short. That was a good question. As far as London was concerned, he already had two failures in a row. If this all turned to nothing, or if they failed this mission too, there would be no redeeming themselves. On the other hand, maybe London already knew about the sun gun and this was some sort of test.

Hogan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. When had things become so complicated?

Finally, he sighed. "Tell them. If we do fail, they at least need to be aware that the Nazis are working on this weapon."

"Sure thing, Colonel."

"Now, onto other business," Hogan said. "Vahlen's house is about an hour away. We're going to miss at least one roll call."

"Looks like you'll have some company in the cooler, Carter," Newkirk said, thumping Carter on the back.

"Great," Carter said tightly.

"Oui, just great," LeBeau said sarcastically. "I love the cooler." He crossed his arms and scowled, his bad mood from earlier that day making a reappearance.

"It'll only be a day or two… Probably," Hogan said.

"What are you thinking, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"I'm thinking we need to put together a band."

* * *

Right on cue, from his office, Hogan heard the barracks door fly open with a clatter. He smirked at Kinch, who slid knowing eyes towards Newkirk, who in turn rolled his eyes at LeBeau.

"Where is it?!" he heard Klink saying from the other side of the door. "Don't play dumb with me, I know you have it! Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan pretended not to hear him. "All right fellas, one more time, from the top! And a one, and a two and a one, two, three!" Hogan grabbed his drum sticks and began pounding them on his kettle drum. LeBeau played a jaunty little tune of his harmonica, Kinch plucked at the strings of a bass, and Newkirk tried his hand at fiddling. If possible, he was worse than Klink.

Suddenly Hogan's door burst open, revealing Klink and Schultz. Klink looked like the cat that had caught the canary, but his expression instantly fell when he saw Newkirk. "Stop that! Stop that!" He marched up to the group, but they ignored him. "Hogan! Stop this at once! And you! You… barbarian! Release my violin at once!" he cried, shaking his riding crop in the air. When he was once again ignored, he brought the crop down on Newkirk's shoulder. "I said stop!"

"Yowch! Blimey!" Newkirk pulled the bow across the violin, making a terrible screech, before he raised his hands in surrender. Klink quickly pulled down his violin and bow and hugged them to his chest.

"Colonel Klink, I must protest. Striking an enlisted prisoner is against the Geneva Convention!" Hogan cried indignantly.

Klink stamped his foot. "Hogan! What is going on here?"

Hogan looked between his men, tilting his head from side to side before donning an innocent expression. "Cultural enrichment? Right fellas?"

"Sounds about right," Kinch said.

"We were playing Beethoven. I think," Newkirk said.

"I thought we were supposed to be playing Mozart!" LeBeau said in surprise.

"And here I thought we were playing Joplin," Kinch smirked.

"Fellas, I told you a thousand times, we were supposed to be playing Glenn Miller!"

"Oh boo!" LeBeau jeered.

"I thought we were playing real music!" Newkirk scoffed.

"Enough, enough!" Klink cried. "What were you doing with my violin?!" he demanded.

"Oh that was _your_ violin?" Hogan asked, surprised.

Klink scowled. "Of course it was mine! Why else would it be tucked away under _my_ bed in _my_ locked room. How did you get it?"

Again, Hogan exchanged glances with his men. "I don't know," he finally said. "Newkirk, do you know?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Newkirk said.

"LeBeau?"

"Oh do not ask me, Colonel; I do not know either," LeBeau replied.

Kinch shrugged. "Beats me."

"Oh, I see," Klink sneered. "I suppose it just grew legs and walked itself here?"

"Stranger things have happened, Kommandant," Hogan said nonchalantly.

Klink stamped his foot. "You obviously stole it! Schultz!"

Schultz stepped forward and clicked his heels with a salute. "Herr Kommandant?"

"Schultz, take these men to the cooler and keep them there for a week! Perhaps that will teach them a lesson!" Klink ordered.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!"

"A week? For using your lousy violin?" Hogan cried.

"For _stealing_ my violin!" Klink corrected. "Schultz, take them away!"

"But, Kommandant, this is a cruel and-"

"I do not want to hear it, Hogan," Klink said, cutting him off. He watched as Schultz waved the men along. Klink sighed. "Hogan," he said softly. Hogan paused mid-step and looked at him curiously. "After all I did… I could have done so much more to your men after Weiss… I thought perhaps…" He shook his head in dismay. "Ah, but of course we are enemies, and we all must play our parts."

A troubling wave of guilt caused Hogan to furrow his brow. Stealing Klink's violin was meant to rile him up enough to have them thrown in the cooler, but it was supposed to be harmless fun. But to Klink, it had been more than just a case of petty theft and Hogan felt he had broken something that would be harder to repair than it had been to build in the first place.

Either way, Hogan couldn't let some misguided sense of pity or guilt get the better of him. So, without even trying to reply, Hogan marched out of his office and followed his men into the cooler.


	6. The Castle

Sunday couldn't come soon enough. While most of their cooler time was spent in the tunnel, LeBeau still hated being in a confined space. To him, there was not much difference between a small stone cell, and an underground dirt tomb.

So it was quite a relief when, on Sunday afternoon, LeBeau, Newkirk, Carter, and Colonel Hogan donned civilian clothes and crept out of the tunnel. They hastily made their way to the edge of town, where they were supposed to meet Olsen. Since they were going as civilians, they couldn't 'borrow' a staff car or truck from camp. Instead, they would take Olsen's personal car.

Hidden at the edge of the forest, they looked down at the deserted road. Olsen was nowhere to be seen and the minutes were passing quickly. "Where is he?" Hogan asked no one in particular as he checked his watch again.

"Do you think-" LeBeau started, but cut himself off, not wanting to put his fears out into the open for Fate to hear. As the outside man, Olsen was in constant danger and there was always a chance that his luck had run out.

Before anyone could answer or dispel his fears, they heard the sound of a car approaching. They all ducked back out of sight and waited. A nondescript car crested the hill and pulled over on the side of the road. Olsen popped out and leaned against his car, looking about and then checking his watch.

"Come on," Hogan said, motioning for them to follow him out of the trees. They slid down the bank and hopped over the ditch to the road. "'Bout time, Olsen," Hogan said by way of greeting.

Olsen tilted his head to the side. "I'm right on time, Colonel."

"You're ten minutes late." To prove his point, Hogan held his watch in front of Olsen's face. Olsen looked from it to his watch.

"Heh." He shook his wrist and held his watch to his ear. Then he fiddled with it. "Sorry about that, Colonel. Can't find a decent watch these days."

"Get it fixed," Hogan ordered curtly.

"Will do," Olsen promised. Then he moved aside and waved a hand at his car. "Well, here she is. Just don't crash her into anything. And be mindful of the tires- they have to last the duration." He tossed the keys over to Hogan who easily caught them. "If I'm not here when you get back, just leave her here- no one really uses this road anymore."

"Thanks," Hogan said. He slipped into the driver's seat and closed the door. Then he rolled down the window and stuck his head out. "If we're not back by tomorrow, head back to camp," Hogan ordered. "Help Kinch get ready to clear everyone out."

"I will. You don't have to worry about us, sir," Olsen said. "But you'll be back."

Hogan nodded and rolled up the window before turning the engine. "Newkirk." Hogan pulled out a map from his breast pocket and handed it to Newkirk who was in the front seat. "Navigate."

LeBeau settled into the back seat and looked over at Carter who was anxiously pulling at his fingers as he looked out the window.

"Nervous?" LeBeau asked.

Carter winced and pulled at his ear. "What? Me? No. Piece of pie."

"Oh sure," LeBeau groaned. "We are only going into unknown territory, against unknown odds. A piece of pie."

"We'll be all right," Hogan said from the front.

LeBeau grunted. He would just have to trust the colonel. Thus far, he had not led them astray. And if this time were the exception? Well, LeBeau would probably be the last to know since he would be stuck in the kitchen. At least there he would have access to some weapons- the others were unarmed, in keeping with their waiter identities. They would likely have to pass through some security before they were permitted to enter and carrying even a small handgun would blow their cover.

LeBeau drummed his fingers nervously under the window, watching as the scenery flew past. He occupied his mind with all the possibilities for dinner. Hogan had assured him Vahlen had a well-stocked kitchen, but that didn't mean anything to LeBeau. Well-stocked to a German probably meant a ton of potatoes and sauerkraut. LeBeau had to be ready for anything. He found himself longing for his restaurant back in Paris and all the delicious dishes he had created there.

Suddenly Carter reached over him, grabbed LeBeau's hand and jammed it down into his lap. "Stop," he said through gritted teeth. Then he let go and leaned back against his own side of the car.

Startled, LeBeau blinked, looked down at his hand and then over at Carter. Carter refused to acknowledge him, rather keeping his eyes firmly glued to the window, his jaw tight. He had a white-knuckled grip on his pant leg. LeBeau arched an eyebrow and caught Hogan's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Andrew," Newkirk started tentatively as he turned in his seat. "Are you-"

Carter let out a breath and rubbed his eyes. "I'm… fine," he finally said. "I think I've just been in isolation too long. I've been alone with just my own thoughts for noise for three weeks." With another sigh, he dropped his hand and offered LeBeau a shaky smile. "Sorry, LeBeau."

"C'est rien," LeBeau said, offering a small smile of his own. He waited until Carter returned his gaze to the window before catching Hogan's eye again.

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a while, but LeBeau had been so caught up in his own mopey thoughts that he hadn't really noticed. Between Newkirk and himself, there were enough short tempers to go around- the team didn't need Carter to suddenly develop one.

Whatever was bugging Carter, however, would have to wait. It was too late to change their plans and send him back to camp.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, save for the occasional direction Newkirk gave. Soon the trees started to thin and were replaced by sprawling fields, hemmed in by fences. White cattle soon came into view, grazing the last bit of grass before winter brought its snow. The road wound around a hill and on the other side they could see their destination.

Vahlen's manor was a sight to behold. Perched on a little rise above a shimmering lake, it looked like something out of a fairytale and LeBeau found himself imagining a sleeping princess in one of its towers. Its peaceful beauty seemed untouched by the war, as if they had passed through some sort of magical barrier into a fantasy world. Carefully planted trees were on fire with changing leaves, and yet not a single one littered the perfectly manicured lawns. A pair of swans paddled lazily on the lake.

"Blimey, it's good to be king," Newkirk breathed.

"Or at least rich like one," Hogan said. "No wonder he didn't want us to bomb it."

But as they got closer, they found the ugly hand of war had touched even this picturesque scene. The windows were all taped up in case of air raids, sandbags were piled up against the walls, and the top floor seemed to be boarded up completely. A checkpoint with two armed guards blocked their way, further evidence that the war was encroaching on this haven.

Hogan stopped the car at the checkpoint and rolled down his window. One of the guards approached. "Papers," he said mechanically. Hogan fished out his papers and handed them over without a word. The guard looked them over and then nodded to his companion, who lifted the gate arm. "Drive on," the guard said before handing the papers back to Hogan.

"Danke," Hogan said with a nod. He did as he was told and continued down the road. An old man in a fading suit was waiting for them as they pulled up to the house, along with a guard.

The guard greeted them and ordered them out of the car. He did a quick pat down that probably would not have found any weapons if they had been carrying them anyway. Satisfied, the guard stepped back.

"Take the car around back," the old man told them. "You'll see where to go," he said curtly. Again, Hogan followed orders.

The back of the house was not quite as pristine as the front had been. A few crates were scattered about, as well as some loose straw and bits of garbage. A few stray chickens picked at the ground, trying to snap up a quick meal. A woman in a black dress and a white apron was waiting for them.

Once they exited the car, she curtsied. "Good afternoon messieurs," she greeted in heavily accented German. "I am Mimi. This way." She led them up a set of old steps and into the back hall which led into a large kitchen. "You have a chef with you?" she asked.

"That is me," LeBeau said, stepping forward and raising his hand a little. "Claude Fontaine."

"Oh!" Mimi seemed pleased. "You are French!"

" _All the best chefs are, are they not_?" LeBeau replied in French.

" _But of course_ ," Mimi replied with a smile. " _Madame will be pleased_."

"Ahem." The old man from outside was in the doorway. "Gentlemen, there are still some things that need to be set up. Frau Vahlen will show you. The cook may stay here. The rest of you, follow me."

Hogan pegged LeBeau with a look that told him to be careful, and then followed the butler out of the kitchen. It was a fair warning. LeBeau always became excited when he had the opportunity to speak with a fellow countryman. And it didn't hurt that this particular countryman was a pretty blonde in a dress. He would have to guard his words, lest he get carried away and reveal too much.

"It will be nice to have a real French meal again," Mimi said when they were alone. "Our old cook was German and he was just drafted. And I, unfortunately, can only make the most basic meals."

"So you are the cook now?" LeBeau asked.

"Among many other things, I'm afraid. Our staff has been reduced drastically over the last few years."

"How long have you been here?" LeBeau asked.

"Four years. I was not eager to leave France, but a job is a job and Madame Vahlen hired me personally. I guess she wanted to have someone French to speak to. And the last maid… well, I suppose Monsieur Vahlen kept her on as long as he could." Mimi furrowed her brow, troubled, but then shook whatever thoughts she was having away. "Ah but enough of that. How long have you been in Germany?"

"Ten years," LeBeau replied. "My wife… well, she left and I had nothing left. So I went to live with my cousin in Hammelburg." LeBeau figured there was no harm in injecting a little bit of truth into his cover story.

"Oh, I am sorry."

LeBeau shrugged. "I took her for granted. I cannot blame her. A woman like her deserved to be cherished." These were things that he should have admitted to himself a long time ago and he wasn't sure why he was now. Perhaps it was because he could pretend it was Claude Fontaine saying them, and not Louis LeBeau. "But I suppose I will have to do better next time." A sly smile tugged at his lips as he wiggled an eyebrow at Mimi.

Mimi giggled. "Monsieur Fontaine, may I remind you that you are here to work?"

"Ah, but I am!" He winked at her.

They kept their conversation light, flirting a little as they brought down pots and pans and began chopping food. Mimi's evaluation of her own skills had, unfortunately, been accurate. She was no cook, but she managed to follow LeBeau's directions well enough.

It was good to speak French again. It was good to work with ingredients that hadn't been cobbled together from Red Cross packages and scanty drops from London. And it was good to hear a woman laugh.

If this all ended up going sideways, then LeBeau figured this was the best ending he could hope for.


	7. Sun Gun Plans

Every fairytale castle needed a fairytale queen. Frau Vahlen fit the bill perfectly, as far as Newkirk was concerned. She was slender and regal and seemed to walk as if on a cloud. Her chestnut hair was elegantly coiffed and she wore a long blue dress that matched her eyes. Her words were dusted with a French accent as she ordered the men about while she, herself, tended to flower arrangements.

A few hours later, the banquet hall was ready. Herr Vahlen came down to inspect it and nodded in satisfaction before kissing his wife.

"Excellent job, my dear, as always."

"It will be nice to have a party again," Frau Vahlen said hesitantly. She looked up at her husband, holding his hand tightly against her chest. He gave her a reassuring smile and kissed the top of her head before whispering something to her.

She seemed nervous, and Newkirk wondered if she knew what was going on.

"Yes, it will be a good send off for our friends," Vahlen continued. "I'm afraid they will be leaving by Wednesday to places unknown." Newkirk caught him giving Hogan a quick look.

There would be no second chances. If they didn't get the information tonight, they might not be able to find the new research facility.

A clock chimed the half hour in the hall, prompting Vahlen to pull out his pocket watch. "Ah, it's almost time, my dear. Will you put on the music?"

"Of course," she replied.

"And you men, you know what to do?" Vahlen asked Hogan. Hogan nodded. "Good. Everyone will be coming up soon. Get some drinks. We'll sit to eat at seven."

"Very good," Hogan said. He turned towards Newkirk and Carter and gave a little clap before pointing to the door. They slipped out of the banquet room and through the hall to the kitchen. There they found LeBeau chatting away with the maid, Mimi, looking like he was in heaven.

"Having a good time, are we?" Newkirk asked as he dropped a hand on LeBeau's shoulder.

"Yes, a very good time," LeBeau replied. "Appetizers are ready for you." He motioned to a table where several platters were filled with dainty little finger foods.

"I will pour some drinks," Mimi offered.

"Good. Herr Vahlen wants some food set aside for the guards downstairs. And some coffee," Hogan said.

"Will do," LeBeau replied. "Will you bring down the coffee pot?"

"I've got it," Carter said. He pulled a large coffee pot off a shelf. He fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. "Whoops." He chuckled nervously and then set the pot on the ground. "Just a sec here, it's heavy." He turned his back to everyone for a few moments before popping up again with the pot and setting it on the table. "There we go."

"Be careful, if you break any dishes, it will come out of your pay!" Hogan said.

"Yes sir!" Carter said meekly.

With that, they grabbed their trays and headed back out into the hall. The bleary eyed scientists who soon filled the room looked woefully out of place in such settings. Some had forgotten to take off their lab coats, while all of them had crooked ties and worn suit jackets. The only one who looked really comfortable was a man in a smart Heer uniform. Newkirk had to assume it was Colonel Kisling.

Newkirk passed him with a tray of drinks and Kisling grabbed two, handing one to Frau Vahlen with a little click of his heels. Frau Vahlen smiled demurely and took the drink, clinking it against his glass.

"It is so lovely to have a party like this again," Kisling said.

"Indeed," Frau Vahlen replied.

"I wonder why you have not had one until now," Kisling continued.

Frau Vahlen laughed a little. "There is a war going on Otto!"

"And yet you have attended other parties," Kisling pointed out. "In Dusseldorf and Berlin. And you were at Berchtesgaden last winter."

"That is true," Frau Vahlen conceded.

"So you have no moral objections to parties during war?" Kisling surmised.

Frau Vahlen smiled coyly. "Perhaps I just want the people of Hammelburg to think I am more temperate than I am."

"Oh I see- you are simply avoiding the appearance of evil!" Kisling laughed.

"As best I can, Otto. As best I can," she said, echoing his laugh.

Newkirk shook his head and moved out of hearing range. Hypocrites.

He made his rounds through the room, occasionally going back to the kitchen for refills, making sure everyone took a drink. Getting everyone drunk would make it easier to complete their mission.

Soon everyone was seated at the table and Newkirk, Carter and Hogan brought out the feast LeBeau had prepared. It smelled delicious and Newkirk's mouth started to water. He hoped that before they left, they were also able to eat.

But first things first- there was a mission to complete.

As soon as the food was set out, Newkirk, Carter and Hogan hung back against the door. Hogan nodded to them and Newkirk and Carter slipped out into the hall and went to the kitchen.

"Fontaine, we are ready to take food to the guards," Newkirk told him.

"Over there," LeBeau said, jerking his head to the table. There was a tray with a few plates heaping with food and another with a large coffee pot, cream, sugar, and some cups. Newkirk and Carter grabbed them, then made their way into the basement.

The guard stopped them at the bottom of the stairs.

"Herr Vahlen is sorry you can't attend the party," Newkirk said, holding up the tray so that the guard could take a nice long whiff of the food. "So he said to bring the party to you."

The guard breathed in the intoxicating aroma and then nodded. He shouldered his rifle and allowed Newkirk and Carter to pass before following them.

They found themselves in a wide foyer, furnished with plush chairs and deep carpets. Two guards were sitting at a table, playing cards, while more were posted outside every door. They all went on alert when they saw Newkirk and Carter.

"Dinner," Newkirk announced.

If any of the guards had reservations about leaving their post, the smell soon put them to rest. They all pulled up chairs at the table and, once the food was set down, served themselves.

"Wait," one guard said, holding up a hand to stop the others before they could start eating. He took a forkful of food and held it out to Newkirk. "You first."

Newkirk grinned. "Don't mind if I do!" He took the fork and happily ate the food. "Mmmm. Fontaine outdid himself tonight!" It wasn't often that Newkirk praised LeBeau's food, but that was mostly to keep the Frenchman's pride in check. And, in any case, this wasn't the usual fish stew or spam surprise. This was high quality food made with high quality ingredients.

The guard didn't look satisfied. "And the coffee?"

"No problem." Newkirk poured himself a cup from one of the pots. It had been specially rigged not to drop the sleeping powder in until after the first pour.

It was a risky move to drug the guards, but there was really no other way. Since they were in the basement, there were no windows they could sneak through, and there were too many guards for a distraction upstairs to draw all of them away. A fake bombing raid would just drive everyone down in the basement as well and while there was a possibility they could slip into the room they needed to get to unnoticed, there was no guarantee. So the plan was to knock them out and hope they could blame their sleepiness on the heavy meal.

Newkirk drank the coffee and then smacked his lips. "That's proper stuff," he said.

The guard still looked suspicious. He turned to Carter. "Your turn. Hans." He snapped his fingers and one of the other guards held up some food. Carter shrugged and ate it. "And now some coffee. With cream and sugar?"

"I usually take it black, but… all right," Carter said. He prepared his coffee and drank it down. "Hmmm. Not bad."

Newkirk's heart started to race. That idiot. He had probably forgotten the coffee would be drugged after the first cup- and he was the one who had rigged it! He had to get Carter out of there before he collapsed and gave the game away.

"Is it safe now, Schmidt?" one guard asked, looking amused.

Schmidt raised a hand. "Wait." The other guards rolled their eyes, but did as he said. After an interminable amount of time, he dropped his hand. "Very good," he said, finally satisfied.

"If that will be all," Newkirk said quickly.

"We will not be long," Schmidt said. "Just stand there, we will be done soon."

"You shouldn't eat so quickly," Carter said disapprovingly.

"Listen to him," one guard joked, "he thinks he is out mother!"

"But he may have a point," another said. "Why must we rush anyway? This is the most boring assignment I have ever been on."

"You can never be too careful," Schmidt said sternly. "Now, eat. You two, wait over there."

Newkirk stifled a groan, but did as he was told. He ushered Carter close to the stairs, just in case they had to make a quick getaway.

Carter lazily leaned up against the wall and folded his arms. He yawned quietly and patted his mouth.

Newkirk started to sweat.

The minutes ticked by. Any moment now, Carter would faint and Newkirk could only hope that the guards would pass out before they could react.

But aside from the yawn, Carter didn't seem a bit sleepy. In fact, he just looked annoyed as he watched the guards gobble down their food. His fist shook slightly at his side as if any moment he was going to leap forward and start knocking heads together. Maybe he had forgotten to put the drugs in the coffee. Blimey. Well, if Carter thought he and Newkirk would be able to take on all these guards in hand to hand combat in order to knock them out, he was barmy.

But before Newkirk could intervene, Carter calmed down and cocked his head, suddenly fascinated by something. "That's interesting… Get ready," he whispered.

Newkirk arched an eyebrow. Ready for what?

A clatter followed by another and another answered his question. All the guards at the table had fallen forward into their food, fast asleep.

"How did you-" Newkirk started to ask, but thought better of it. There was no time for all the questions he had. "Never mind. Lean the back and clean them up, will you?"

Carter nodded and set to work while Newkirk hurried to the one of the doors. It was locked, of course, but Newkirk soon rectified that.

Vahlen's directions were right- the room held a desk and a few chairs and, in the corner, a large safe. Vahlen, unfortunately, did not have the code, but there were very few safes that could keep Newkirk out. He sized the safe up and knew that this one would be no exception.

From inside his jacket, he pulled out his stethoscope and went to work. It was shockingly easy. Perhaps too easy and Newkirk felt a sense of uneasiness. Surely _something_ had to go wrong.

He cautiously opened the safe, half expecting some sort of booby trap. But none appeared. Still suspicious, Newkirk pulled out a stack of folders and set them on the desk. The lighter he fished from his pocket was actually a mini camera. He turned on the desk lamp and opened the folder, taking pictures of every paper. They were covered in mathematical equations that were more letters than numbers. Just looking at it made Newkirk's head spin. He couldn't imagine trying to decipher it. Another paper sported a diagram of what Newkirk could only assume was the so-called sun gun.

Newkirk snorted. It looked exactly as Hogan had described- a big magnifying glass in space. A load of rubbish. Just how did the Nazis plan on getting it up there? And how was it going to stay up there once they did? He assumed the math equations held the answer, but that was for someone else to figure out.

He was thankful, at least, that this set of research notes was nothing like the last he had had to photograph. He was still having nightmares of those gruesome photos.

Finally, he had taken a photo of every sheet. He checked the safe for anything else, but found nothing of interest except a code book which, thanks to Klink's woefully inadequate safe, they already had a copy of.

With that done, he put everything back just the way it was. Out in the main room, Carter had cleaned all the food off the guards and had leaned them back in their seats.

"Did you get it?" Carter asked.

"Got it," Newkirk replied, holding up his lighter. "I'll go take it up to LeBeau."

"Good. Don't forget the coffee."

Newkirk nodded and headed up the stairs. In the kitchen, he found LeBeau chatting with a small boy who was standing on a stool and stirring something in a bowl. Mimi was nowhere to be seen.

"Everything all right in here?" Newkirk asked.

LeBeau nodded. "We are fine," he confirmed. "And are you…"

Newkirk nodded. "All good, but we need more coffee. And some new cups. I'm going out for a cigarette."

"Smoking is not healthy for you," the boy said, frowning at Newkirk.

"Oh?"

"Ja, my mother told me so!"

"Smart woman," Newkirk smiled. "My mother tried to tell me the same thing, but I was always a naughty boy."

The boy put his hands on his hips and stuck out his lip, watching Newkirk leave under heavily furrowed brows. Newkirk chuckled as he closed the door behind him. Then, he looked around to make sure the coast was clear. No one was around so he darted to the car and opened the passenger door. He slipped the lighter, his lockpick and stethoscope in a special compartment under the seat.

Before he went back inside, he took the opportunity to actually have a cigarette. He felt a little of his stress leave his body as he blew out a puff of smoke. But a mission was never complete until they were safely back at home and so he steeled his nerves once more. He waited long enough for another pot of coffee to be ready and went back in.

"Oh, you smell terrible," the boy said in dismay.

"Do not worry," LeBeau grinned, "he _always_ smells bad."

"Har har," Newkirk said, rolling his eyes. "I'll be back." He hurried out into the hall and poked his head into the banquet hall. The party was still eating their food and engaged in quiet conversations. Hogan was going around the table and topping up drinks- no doubt gathering as much intelligence as he could. Hogan looked up and nodded surreptitiously- everything was still going fine. Newkirk ducked back out and, after grabbing the new coffee, headed to the basement.

Carter had taken up his spot against the wall again.

"Here, help me," Newkirk said as he set the coffee tray down. Together, they replaced every cup of coffee on the table with the new batch, trying to pour the same amount. They would have to guess on the amount of sugar and cream. Or so he thought. But instead, Carter took a sip of each coffee.

"Carter!"

"Mmmph. Boy this guy has a sweet tooth. I'm surprised the coffee did anything to him- it's mostly cream and sugar."

"It's going to do something to you!" Newkirk hissed.

Carter just batted away his concern. "I'll be fine. Didn't I tell you I started building up an immunity to this stuff? You know, I'm not just making bombs in my lab."

"You're going to get some sort of disease!" Newkirk insisted. "These buggers must have at least one case of rabies floating around."

Carter snorted in amusement, but just took another sip from a different cup. Soon they had replaced all the coffee. Newkirk gathered the old cups and pot and rushed them upstairs. Mimi had returned and he kindly asked her to wash them right away before heading back down.

"Good timing," Carter said when he arrived. "I think they're waking up."

Newkirk took a deep breath and leaned up beside Carter, trying to act casual. This would be the hardest part. They had to convince the guards that their sleep had nothing to do with them.

"So I said to her," Newkirk said to Carter when the guards started to stir, "if you thought Göring is fat, you should see my mother!" Newkirk laughed and clapped Carter on the shoulder.

"I don't get it," Carter said, genuinely confused.

"Because my mother, she- forget it. Oh, look who's done their nap."

"Wha…" Schmidt leaned forward and rubbed his eyes before looking around. "What is this? What happened?"

"I think we must have fallen asleep," one of his comrades surmised as he too rubbed his eyes.

Schmidt squawked in surprise and shook one of the other guards who was still asleep. "Wake up! Wake up, you fool!"

"I _told_ you not to eat your food so quickly," Carter said, causing Schmidt to start and whip his head in their direction. "If you're not used to French food, a big helping like that can make you really sleepy."

"Don't worry, we won't report this to Colonel Kisling," Newkirk added.

At that, Schmidt jumped up and grabbed his rifle. Carter and Newkirk straightened in surprise and slowly raised their hands. "You drugged us!"

"But how?" one of the guards said, also slowly lifting his rifle. "They ate the food. They drank the coffee."

"Maybe they woke up before us?" Schmidt said.

"If they were also asleep, then they could not have done anything," another guard pointed out.

"We didn't fall asleep," Carter said, "because we didn't eat like pigs. But, if it makes you feel better, we will eat what's left."

"Maybe we _should_ report this to Colonel Kisling," Newkirk huffed. "I am sure he would love to investigate this."

Schmidt scowled. "Gottfried, Richter, check the doors." Two of the guards got up from the table and did as they were told.

"All locked, Sergeant," they reported.

"Search them," Schmidt ordered. Two more guards grabbed hold of Carter and Newkirk and took off their coats while another two patted them down thoroughly. One guard pulled out Newkirk's cigarettes and lighter- a real one- and tossed them to Schmidt. Schmidt pocketed the cigarettes and carefully inspected the lighter, shaking and lighting it several times. Then he put that in his pocket as well.

"Perhaps..." Schmidt said slowly. "Perhaps you do not need to tell the colonel about this."

"If you say so," Newkirk shrugged. "Would you like us to bring you dessert?"

"No!" Schmidt growled.

"Suit yourself," Newkirk said with a shrug. "Let's go. We'll come back down for the dishes later."

"And pace yourselves this time?" Carter said before he and Newkirk left them.

When they got back into the kitchen, Newkirk and Carter let out sighs of relief. They weren't safe yet, but the hardest part was behind them.


	8. Frau Vahlen

Dinner, of course, was a masterpiece. LeBeau really shouldn't have bothered to put this much effort into making food for the Boche, but it was such a treat to work in a kitchen like this.

"I'll start on dessert. You start on the dishes?" LeBeau said. Mimi nodded and set to work. LeBeau grabbed a mixing bowl, but hissed in pain when he tried to pull it up onto the counter.

"What is the matter?" Mimi asked, concerned.

"Oh, nothing. My wrist must just be sore from making all this food. I have not cooked a feast like this in some time. Mimi just hummed in response and went back to her dishes.

LeBeau winced as he pulled up his sleeve a little. His arm had been sore all night and now he knew why- there was a large bruise forming just above his wrist.

"That looks like it hurts," a voice said. LeBeau looked up to see a small boy standing next to him, looking at his arm curiously. "How did it happen?"

"Oh… I don't know."

The boy nodded sagely. "Sometimes I forget how I get bruises too. You must play outside a lot."

LeBeau smiled slightly. "Not as much as I would like."

From the sink, he heard Mimi sigh. "Oh Henri," she said, "what are you doing up?"

"I smelled food," Henri replied nonchalantly as he climbed onto a stool next to the counter.

Mimi sighed, exasperated. "I should have known."

"Who's this?" Henri asked, pointing to LeBeau.

"This is Claude Fontaine. He is cooking for the party tonight," Mimi told him.

Henri extended his hand. "I am Henri. Pleased to meet you."

LeBeau couldn't help but smile as he took the small hand in his and shook it. The boy couldn't have been more than eight, but he wore a very serious expression.

"And you, monsieur," LeBeau said.

The boy grinned and then turned his attention to Mimi. "Mimi, Herman said to tell you he would like his dinner now. And he is _very_ hungry."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mimi said. She pulled her hands out of the soapy water and wiped them off on her apron.

"Herman?" LeBeau asked.

"The butler," Mimi explained. "He is not as young as he used to be and goes to bed quite early. Monsieur Vahlen does not mind."

"That's generous of him," LeBeau said. "But if you are going to take him food, you may as well eat yourself."

"Thank you, I believe I will," Mimi said. She set about putting together a large amount of food. LeBeau raised an eyebrow and was about to say something when Henri interrupted him.

"What are you making?" he asked curiously.

"Cream puffs," he replied. "They will be delicious."

"They _sound_ delicious," Henri said, licking his lips.

"Have you ever had them?"

Henri shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Well, if you help me make them, I will let you have some."

Henri's smile was so wide that it practically swallowed his face. "Okay!"

"But first you need an apron," LeBeau said.

"I know where they are!" Henri exclaimed as he jumped off his stool and scurried to a closet. He stretched up as high as he could, trying to grab an apron off a hook, but they were far out of his reach. "Uuuuuurrrrrg!"

LeBeau chuckled and went over and pulled one down for him. "There you go."

Henri scowled. "I could have gotten it," he fumed.

"Ah, I am sorry," LeBeau apologized. "I know what it is like when people who are taller than you think you can't do something yourself."

Henri looked at him curiously. "Yes, you are short, aren't you?"

It was LeBeau's turn to scowl. But the scowl quickly dissolved into a laugh. "Yes, very."

"One day I shall be as tall as my father," Henri said proudly as he climbed back onto his stool. "But mother says I will be just as tall as God wants me to be."

"Your mother is very wise," LeBeau said. "Now, if you are going to help me, you must listen to everything I say and do exactly as I tell you."

"I will," Henri promised.

True to his word, Henri hung on his every word and followed his instructions as best he could. If LeBeau were being honest, he was a better helper than Mimi. He wondered how she would react if he told her that!

"You are a very good chef," LeBeau said.

"I like food," Henri said with a shrug. "I think I will be a chef when I grow up."

"It takes a lot of work," LeBeau told him.

"Everything worthwhile takes a lot of work."

LeBeau eyebrow went up. "That's very profound."

Henri shrugged. "That's what my father says anyway."

LeBeau laughed. "Of course. Well, he is right."

It was then that Newkirk popped into the kitchen. "Everything all right in here?" he asked, looking at Henri curiously.

LeBeau nodded. "We are fine," he confirmed. "And are you…"

Newkirk nodded. "All good, but we need more coffee. And some new cups. I'm going out for a cigarette."

"Smoking is not healthy for you," Henri said, frowning at Newkirk.

"Oh?"

"Ja, my mother told me so!"

"Smart woman," Newkirk smiled. "My mother tried to tell me the same thing, but I was always a naughty boy."

Henri frowned and put his hands on his hips as he watched Newkirk leave. "I _always_ listen to _my_ mother," Henri declared.

"Do you?" LeBeau asked skeptically.

Henri ducked his head. "Weeellllllll."

"I can confirm he does not," Mimi said with a laugh as she came back into the kitchen.

"Weeeeellllllll," Henri repeated, but then he giggled. LeBeau laughed with him and ruffled his thick black hair. Henri suddenly scowled and knocked LeBeau's hand away before rearranging his hair. Then he turned his attention to Mimi. "Did Herman get enough to eat?" he asked.

"I may bring him some more later," Mimi replied. "But I think now I should get back to the dishes. They are piling up!"

"Good idea," LeBeau said as he got together a new pot of coffee.

It wasn't long before Newkirk returned, grabbed the coffee and left. He was back not too long after with the old pot and cups. Mimi obediently put them ahead of the other dishes and washed them quickly. LeBeau wondered if she knew what they were really doing there, but dismissed the idea.

Soon, both Carter and Newkirk came up and went back to the banquet hall. LeBeau checked the wall clock. The most dangerous part of the mission was complete, apparently without any problems, and soon they would be safely at home.

"Mimi, tell me about Paris!" Henri said, abandoning LeBeau, who was just finishing up his pastries, and moving his stool next to the sink.

"Again?"

"Yes, please!" He looked over his shoulder at LeBeau. "I was born there, you know."

"I did not. I was born there too."

"Oh! Then _you_ can tell me about Paris. I have heard _her_ stories a hundred times." He hopped off his stool and moved it back next to LeBeau. LeBeau laughed.

"I think that it is past your bedtime, Henri," Mimi said, catching the boy by the back of his shirt before he could climb onto the stool again.

"Aw, Mimi!"

"No whining. You may not always listen to your mother, but you always listen to me, don't you?"

"Weeeeelllllll."

Mimi laughed. "Go!"

Henri rolled his eyes, but started towards the door. He paused and turned back to LeBeau. "You will save me a cream puff, right?"

"Of course. I will sneak one to you myself if I have to!"

Henri grinned and scurried out of the kitchen.

"He is a sweet child," LeBeau observed when he had left.

"Weeelllllll," Mimi said, then giggled. "Henri he… he is like a fairy."

"A fairy?" LeBeau repeated.

"Like in that English book, Peter Pan. Have you read it?" LeBeau shook his head. "Well the fairies are so small, they can only hold onto one emotion at a time. Henri will be very sweet one moment, but he has a wild temper that makes him lose all common sense."

"I see."

They moved to another topic and passed the time quite nicely. At some point, the colonel, Newkirk and Carter came in for dessert. LeBeau could hear music playing a little more loudly from the banquet hall. Mimi swayed back and forth, humming to herself. LeBeau was half-tempted to tear her away from the dishes and dance around the kitchen with her. He wondered what was keeping him from doing so. When he decided that there was nothing, he took her hand. Surprised, Mimi looked down at their soapy hands and then up at his face.

"Mimi?" a voice called from outside the door. Mimi quickly tore her hand out of his and started back on the dishes.

"Yes, Madame?"

A woman entered the kitchen. "Mimi, I just wanted to congratulate you and-" the woman's voice died instantly.

LeBeau paled. His thoughts mashed together and exploded, scattering all over his head and refusing to come back together in any way that made sense.

"Louis."

"Hélène," LeBeau croaked.

What was happening?

What was happening?!

WHAT WAS HAPPENING?!

LeBeau couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. This wasn't happening because it _couldn't_ be happening. The love of his life was standing before him, looking just as stunned as he felt.

The pieces slowly fell together. Hélène was Madame Vahlen. She had… left him for Vahlen? She had moved to Germany? She had married a _German_?

Wait.

Henri.

LeBeau remembered feeling something as soon as he saw the boy. Something familiar. And his looks. That _scowl_.

"Mimi," LeBeau said hoarsely. "Mimi, how old is Henri."

Hélène snapped out of her trance. "Mimi, no," she whispered.

Mimi was understandably confused. She looked from Hélène and LeBeau. "Henri? He is nine. He'll be ten in May."

"Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu! Hélène!"

"Louis! Louis, you must… You must leave at once. Right now!" And with that, Hélène turned and fled the kitchen.

"Claude, what is-"

Mimi did not have a chance to finish her sentence before LeBeau turned and ran.


	9. The Getaway

"These are divine," Frau Vahlen said as she bit into a cream puff. "Oh I have not had such delicious food since…" she trailed off into a wistful smile and kissed her husband on the cheek.

"I must say, I am surprised," Vahlen said. "My thanks, sir," he said to Hogan.

"My man is the best," Hogan replied, feeling a burst of pride. Not only was the mission successful, but LeBeau had really outdone himself. The man deserved a silver whisk medal.

"I must go and thank him. And Mimi too," Frau Vahlen said. She nodded to Hogan and left.

Vahlen looked around and, after spotting Kisling across the room, he slid closer to Hogan. "Is it done?"

"We've got it. Guards, unfortunately, are a little suspicious, but I don't think they'll tell Kisling. Mutually assured destruction."

"Good."

Vahlen moved away from Hogan and went to go talk to one of his guests. Hogan grinned and pulled on his jacket. Job well done. He beckoned for Newkirk and Carter to come closer. The party was almost about to wrap up and, after a bit of cleaning, they could get out of there.

Suddenly, Frau Vahlen flew into the room and grabbed her husband's hand, dragging him over to Hogan.

"Monsieur," she said to Hogan, "thank you for all you have done. Please do not feel the need to stay. My staff will clean up in the morning."

"Hélène, what is this?" Vahlen hissed, looking around uncomfortably. Hogan shifted nervously as well as all eyes seemed to be watching them.

"I…" Frau Vahlen started. She looked wild and frantic. But then, a cloak of calm fell over her and she took a deep breath. "I caught his cook kissing Mimi. And she is very distraught," she explained. "I think it best if they just left."

"Oh Madame,' Hogan said. "I am sorry. But if you would just let me talk to him-"

"Non! You must leave. Now!" Frau Vahlen demanded.

"Calm down, my dear," Vahlen said, trying to placate his wife. But Frau Vahlen now looked close to tears and her husband immediately shifted his focus to Hogan.

"Yes, you must leave. This is very unprofessional! I expected more from you."

Hogan ducked his head. "I am very sorry, Herr Vahlen." He motioned for Newkirk and Carter to follow him. Dumbly, they put down their trays and hurried out of the room. They passed through the kitchen, where a very confused Mimi looked on. Hogan was tempted to stop and talk to her, but decided against it. They were in enough trouble already.

LeBeau was already out in the car. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Hogan wanted to berate him then and there, but it could wait until they were safely on the road. So, without a word he started the call and pulled away from the mansion.

They drove in silence for a long time.

"LeBeau," Hogan growled. LeBeau turned wide eyes towards him, still in the same state as when they had left. "LeBeau, what were you thinking? Couldn't you just keep your hands to yourself for one mission?"

LeBeau's lips flapped uselessly. "Colonel?"

"You know, you're not as charming as you sometimes think- and not every girl appreciates being kissed out of the blue."

"Colonel?" Now LeBeau sounded really confused.

"Mimi. The maid. You kissed her."

"Colonel?!"

"Can't you say anything else?" Newkirk asked.

"Colonel," Carter piped up. "I don't think that's what happened." He was regarding LeBeau curiously.

"Well LeBeau, what did happen?" Hogan demanded.

LeBeau still looked shocked. "I… She… Henri…"

"Henri?" Carter asked.

LeBeu shook his head and looked down at his hands in his lap. "Oh mon Dieu, mon Dieu."

Hogan grunted in frustration. This wasn't going anywhere. "Look, it doesn't matter right now. We got the information and unless we're suddenly followed by the Gestapo, I think we're in the clear. But I don't think we'll be invited to another dinner party."

"Mon Dieu," LeBeau whispered.

That was pretty much all LeBeau said the entire trip home. Whatever had happened between him and the maid, it had rattled him. Hogan vowed to get to the bottom of it after a good night's sleep.

Some time later, they returned to the deserted road they had met Olsen on earlier. The outside man wasn't there to meet them. Hogan wondered if it was because his watch was slow again, but more likely it was because it was late in the evening. Ironically, it was easier for the POWs in camp to break their curfew than it was for civilians in town to break theirs.

They often joked that they had walked through these woods so often that they could do it while asleep. LeBeau, in his shocked state, proved them right. Somehow they made it all the way back to camp undetected. When they finally arrived, Hogan's anger had worn off, and now he regarded the French corporal with concern.

"LeBeau, are you all right?" he asked gently as he steered him to a cot near the radio. He felt a little guilty for being so hard on him earlier. What if he was hurt? Or had seen something that traumatized him? Hogan's thoughts briefly flitted to Private Wagner.

"Louis?" Newkirk said, placing a hand on LeBeau's shoulder.

"Hey, what's going on?" It was Kinch. He entered the radio room and regarded the group curiously.

"It's LeBeau," Carter explained. "Something happened to him."

"Is he all right?" Kinch asked worriedly.

"He looks all right," Hogan said. "But I think something happened that just made him… I don't know, snap. He's been like this ever since we left Vahlen's."

"Frau Vahlen said he kissed the maid," Carter explained.

"Maybe she decked him and he's got brain damage?" Newkirk speculated.

"You saw her," Carter said. "She couldn't concuss a fly."

"Maybe she hit him somewhere else," Newkirk said.

"Well whatever happened, I don't think we're going to get any answers tonight," Hogan surmised. He pulled the lighter/camera out of his pocket and tossed it to Kinch. "Kinch would you mind developing this and staying up with him for a bit?"

"Sure, Colonel. Why don't you guys hit the sack?"

Newkirk loitered next to LeBeau, hovering over him. He cast a worried glance to Hogan and then to Kinch. "If he snaps out of it, come get me," he said.

"Will do," Kinch promised.

"Come on." Hogan threw his arm over Newkirk's shoulder and led him out of the room. "He'll be all right." He had to be. Whatever had happened could not have been that terrible. And he couldn't afford to lose another man.

* * *

LeBeau lay back on the cot and looked up at the dirt ceiling. Across the room, Kinch was softly snoring in the chair next to his radio.

Hélène.

She looked just as beautiful tonight as she had ten years ago. And, he realized, she still wore the same perfume.

Henri.

He had a son. He had to be his son. He was his spitting image. He wondered why he hadn't seen it right away. But then, he supposed people only saw what they expected to see- that was actually a large part of Papa Bear's success. If it could work on hardened SS agents, why not on him?

He had a son! And for ten years, Hélène had kept it hidden from him. In ten years, she had not thought to call him, write him, send him a note tied to a pigeon! He had missed out on nine years of his son's life, and for what? Because he hadn't catered to her every whim and need?! It was unfair! It was cruel. It was _evil_!

Anger bubbled up inside him and took over.

How could she?! How could she allow his son to think _that_ man was his father?

What had he done to deserve this?

LeBeau jumped from his cot and began to pace, wringing his hands as he cycled through his thoughts.

How dare she! How _dare_ she!

Henri. That beautiful boy was his flesh and blood, and yet he was a complete stranger. He didn't even know LeBeau existed. And, if not for tonight, LeBeau might never have known he was a father.

It sickened him and horrified him. To think that his son was growing up in Nazi Germany. In a few years he would don a brown shirt and march with the Hitler Youth. He would never even be taught what true freedom was. He would live under a boot his whole life and, most likely, learn to wear that same boot and press it down on others.

LeBeau stopped his pacing, decision made.

He knew what he had to do.


	10. The People Upstairs

As soon as the cooler guard had checked up on him the next morning, Hogan jumped off his cot and pushed aside the stone covering the tunnel entrance. He met Carter and Newkirk in the tunnels and together they marched towards the radio room. They found Kinch snoozing in his chair. The cot, however, was empty.

"Kinch!"

Kinch startled awake and snorted. "Wha- what?!" Within seconds he was on full alert. "Colonel what-" He looked over at the cot. "Holy cats, where did he go?"

"I don't know! Did you hear him leave?"

Kinch shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Colonel. I fell asleep. He was asleep after I finished developing the film and I figured…"

"It's okay Kinch. We couldn't expect you to stay up the whole night."

"Yeah, but I should have gotten one of you or-"

"Never mind that now," Newkirk interrupted. "We have to find him."

"Find who?"

All eyes turned to find LeBeau standing in the hall.

"LeBeau!" Hogan cried.

"Louis, mate, are you all right?"

"I am fine," LeBeau replied. "But Colonel…"

There was something in his tone and the look on his face that made Hogan's heart drop into his stomach. Something big was coming. "LeBeau?" Hogan said after a moment of silence.

LeBeau looked down and dug his toe into the dirt. "Colonel, I did something bad."

"We know," Newkirk said. "You kissed that bird. But it's all right. We got the information and-"

"No!" LeBeau interrupted. "After that. After we got back."

Hogan furrowed his brow in confusion. "What did you do LeBeau?" he asked tentatively, unsure of whether he actually wanted the answer.

"Colonel… I had to. He's my son."

"Your… son? Who?"

"Henri," LeBeau answered. "It was easy. No one saw me."

Hogan was confused- LeBeau wasn't making any sense. Who was Henri? And since when did LeBeau have a son?

"Olsen's car was still on the road. I parked it out of sight and it was so dark that no one saw me. And the kitchen door was unlocked. I had a little trouble finding his room, but-"

"LeBeau!" Hogan interrupted, frustrated and feeling panic rising within his chest. "LeBeau, what did you do?!"

LeBeau turned and started walking down the hall. Hogan exchanged an alarmed look with the others before hurrying after him. LeBeau stopped outside a heavy wood door- it was one of the tunnel's holding cells. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Dreading what he would find, Hogan poked his head inside. Sleeping soundly on the lone cot was a small little boy. He was covered in a blanket, with only his face and a mess of black hair peeking out. Hogan drew back and looked at LeBeau, waiting for something that would explain all this.

"Is that the Vahlen boy?" Newkirk asked after he too took a look.

"Non," LeBeau said quietly. "That is the LeBeau boy."

Hogan looked at him in shock and then forcefully closed the door. He grabbed LeBeau by his collar and hauled him away from the room. He practically threw him into Kinch's chair. "LeBeau, tell me what the hell is going on and tell me now," he demanded.

LeBeau took a deep breath. "That woman? Madame Vahlen? Her name is Hélène. She is… my ex-wife."

"Blimey," Newkirk breathed. "No wonder you couldn't get over her."

LeBeau turned a dangerous eye to him. "What does that mean?"

"Ignore him," Hogan snapped. "Keep going, LeBeau. So Frau Vahlen is your ex-wife?"

"Oui. She… left me. Ten years ago. But she must have been pregnant because… because that boy… Henri…"

"He's your son," Hogan concluded.

LeBeau nodded. "When I saw him, I think I knew. But then Hélène came into the kitchen and she all but confirmed it. There can be no doubt."

Well that explained why LeBeau had been so shocked and why Frau Vahlen had wanted them out of the house. But it didn't explain why the boy was here. There was only one explanation for that.

"So you, what? Went back to Vahlen's house and- and kidnapped him?!" Hogan cried.

LeBeau jumped up from the cot and threw his hands in the hand, but Hogan threw him back down.

"It is not kidnapping," LeBeau insisted. "He is my son!"

"You went to his home in the dead of night. Drugged him- I'm assuming you drugged him?" LeBeau nodded miserably at the accusation. "You drugged him, took him from his bed, away from his mother and family, and locked him in a cell. I give a damn who he is, you _kidnapped_ him!" Hogan was seething. Of all the stupid things to do. Of all the selfish things to do. LeBeau was sitting in front of him, and yet Hogan didn't recognize him.

"I am sorry, mon colonel," LeBeau said pleadingly. "I thought that on the drive out there I would change my mind. That I would come to my senses. But I just got angrier and angrier and I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stand the thought of my son growing up to be a Nazi and that I might never have a chance to see him again and..." LeBeau trailed off.

Hogan slammed his hand against his forehead.

"Maybe we can take him back," Kinch suggested quickly. "Before anyone notices he's gone. And before he wakes up."

LeBeau perked up hopefully.

"Too late for that now," Carter said, cocking his head to the side.

"What do you mean?" Hogan asked.

"Well he's awake," Carter explained. "Don't you hear him crying?"

Hogan didn't, but he went back to the cell anyway. Sure enough, as he got closer, he heard the boy crying.

"What are you, a dog?" Kinch asked Carter.

"I just-"

"Quiet," Hogan ordered. "Everyone stay back." Growling in frustration, Hogan grabbed the sliding lock on the door. Then, after taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked in.

The boy, Henri, started in surprise and pushed himself into the corner, trying to make himself look as small as possible. Tears and snot were running down his face and he looked absolutely terrified. Hogan's heart broke at the pathetic sight.

"Hey. Hey, it's all right," Hogan said softly. He crouched down and held his hand out as if he were trying to coax out a stray dog. The truth was, he was no good with children, but he was determined to do his best.

Henri sniffled. "Who are you? Where am I? Where's my mother?"

All very sensible questions, but Hogan wasn't sure how to answer them. "It's all right. You're safe."

The boy looked around at the dirt wall and then turned his distrustful eyes to Hogan. "Are you… the Gestapo?"

Hogan shook his head. "No. No, I'm not the Gestapo. I promise."

"You're trying to trick me," Henri said.

"I promise you, I'm not," Hogan insisted, trying to keep his voice even and gentle.

"Then where is my mother?!" Henri demanded.

"Henri, shhh, it is okay."

Hogan dropped his head and made a fist. LeBeau. He was going to kill him. And Kinch. And Newkirk. And Carter. They should have stopped him.

"Monsieur Fontaine?"

"My name is LeBeau. Louis LeBeau," LeBeau said as he crept closer. He looked hopeful, as if the name would spark something in Henri.

But the reaction was the opposite of what he had expected. Henri's eyes suddenly hardened. "You _are_ the Gestapo."

"No, we're-" Hogan started.

"Am I here because of the people upstairs?" Henri asked.

"The people upstairs?" Hogan asked.

Henri's hands flew up to his mouth. Then jumped to his feet. "HELP! HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" he shouted as loudly.

"No, Henri. Henri please," LeBeau pleaded, but Henri ignored him, continuing to yell at the top of his lungs.

"Colonel!"

It was Kinch. Hogan looked over his shoulder at him. "We're kind of busy right now, Kinch."

Henri suddenly stopped yelling and looked at Kinch with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Hogan sighed in relief. Maybe _that_ would convince the kid they weren't the Gestapo.

"Colonel, Fuller called down. The Gestapo just pulled into camp.."

At the mention of the Gestapo, Henri looked more confused.

"Great. Kinch, stay with the kid. Try to explain things to him. But… don't mention LeBeau."

"Colonel!" LeBeau protested.

"Can it!" Hogan barked. Without waiting for a reply, Hogan hooked the corporal by his collar and once again dragged him away. "Come on," he ordered. They all clambered up the ladder into their barracks. "Fuller, watch the door," he barked as he marched to his office. Newkirk snuck past him and quickly set up the coffee machine.

"Colonel, we're supposed to be in the cooler," Carter reminded him.

"If we need to, we can sprint back to the cooler before Schultz can waddle there," Hogan said.

"That's true," LeBeau said. Hogan just glared at him. LeBeau wilted.

"Ah! Major Hochstetter!" Klink's voice said over the bug. "What brings you to Stalag 13 today?"

"I am here to tell you to be on the lookout for some fugitives," Hochstetter explained. Hogan winced. _They_ were the fugitives. Vahlen must have discovered his son was missing and ratted them out.

"Oh my, she is very beautiful," Klink said. "But who is she? What did she do?"

"She?" Carter said, giving voice to Hogan's thoughts. So they weren't the fugitives? But then, who?

"Hélène Vahlen," Hochstetter said.

"Vahlen, Vahlen," Klink said, snapping his fingers. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Herr Vahlen was a prominent businessman," Hochstetter explained.

"Oh yes. I remember meeting him at a party in Dusseldorf. But... 'was'? I did not know he retired. Or…"

"Herr Vahlen was shot this morning while trying to escape Gestapo custody."

Hogan shared an alarmed look. Vahlen _had_ told on them, sealing his own fate in the process.

"Oh my, but that is terrible. But what did he do, if you don't mind my asking?"

"This morning, the Vahlens' son was missing," Hochstetter explained. Hogan pegged LeBeau with a hard look. "They searched for him everywhere, but when he did not turn up, Colonel Kisling called the Gestapo."

"And did you find him?"

"Unfortunately not, but we did find an infestation.."

"An infestation?" Klink repeated. "Rats? Mice? Bugs?"

"Jews."

Hogan's breath escaped him and he let out a curse. He found himself regretting every bad thought he had had about Vahlen.

"Mon Dieu," LeBeau whispered.

"J-Jews?" Klink repeated.

"Yes. At least twenty of them. And right under Kisling's nose too. Or, rather, above it," Hochstetter said with a little laugh that sent a shiver up Hogan's spy. "He of course was shot for gross incompetence."

Hogan felt sick.

"But Frau Vahlen?" Klink said.

"Her husband sent her into town to look for the boy herself before we could conduct our own search. She and her maid- a uh…. Mimi Renault*. Unfortunately I do not have a picture of her, but you can be sure they will be together. Most likely they will be heading for France."

"Major Hochstetter, you can be sure that if any of my patrols find Frau Vahlen, I will turn her over to the proper authorities," Klink vowed.

"Excellent…" Hochstetter paused. "Where is Hogan?"

"Oh. Uh," Klink floundered. "He and his men are currently serving a week in the cooler. They stole my private property."

Hochstetter grunted. "I doubt a week in the cooler will do much. Perhaps you would prefer if I took him into my custody?"

Great. That's just what he needed, Hogan thought sourly.

"Major Hochstetter, Colonel Hogan is _my_ prisoner. I will deal with him as I see fit."

"Fine." Hochstetter didn't sound happy, but he had bigger fish to fry.

They heard the door slam shut, followed by several moments of silence. Just before Newkirk pulled the plug they heard a quiet "Mein Gott."


	11. Tears

LeBeau felt sick.

The Vahlens- Hélène- had been hiding Jews- presumably in their boarded up attic. His mind wandered to the huge helping of food Mimi had taken to Herman and realized that it was meant for different mouths.

Perhaps it really was true- people only saw what they expected to see. Colonel Kisling, a friend of Herr Vahlen, would never have expected to find Jews in the same house where he had set up a secret research operation. Vahlen, a prominent and influential businessman, seemed above suspicion, despite his apolitical stance.

And it all had come crumbling down in an instant. Because of him. Because of his anger and pride.

And now his sweet Hélène was running for her life from the Gestapo.

"What have I done?" LeBeau whispered. He looked up at Colonel Hogan, but his expression fluctuated between so many emotions that LeBeau couldn't read it.

Newkirk and Carter had both pulled out cigarettes. "Bloody hell," Newkirk murmured.

"Colonel?" Carter ventured tentatively.

Hogan just shook his head and left the room. LeBeau, Newkirk, and Carter followed him back down into the tunnels.

"Kinch? Kinch?" Hogan called. A moment later, Kinch appeared. Henri was behind him, clutching his pant leg. Hogan sighed and motioned for Newkirk to take the boy.

"Non," Henri protested, pressing himself closer to Kinch.

" _It will be all right_ ," Kinch said in French. He gently loosened Henri's grip and then placed the boy's hand into Newkirk's.

"Kinch," Hogan said when they were out of sight, "get on the horn with all our underground contacts. I want them to be on the lookout for Hélène Vahlen. Top priority."

"What happened?" Kinch asked as he sat down at the radio.

"Gestapo is after her," Hogan said simply without giving any details. "We need to get her and send her off to London."

"What did you say to Henri?" LeBeau asked while Kinch warmed up his machine.

"I explained things the best I could," Kinch said slowly. "But… how do you even explain this?" Kinch just looked disappointed in him and, somehow, that sunk deeper into his soul than all of Hogan's rage.

"I never should have-" LeBeau started.

"No, you shouldn't have," Hogan growled. "LeBeau you… You…" Hogan was at a loss for words. "Never mind." He sighed. "I'm going to have to tell Henri about his father."

"I will do-"

"I don't think so," Hogan said, clipping his words tightly.

"You cannot keep me from him," LeBeau insisted.

"That kid's world is about to be turned upside down. He's lost his father, his home, and now we're going to have to send him to a new country. I think you can hold off on telling him he's your son for a little bit," Hogan said, his voice on the edge of exploding.

"So we will send him to London?" LeBeau asked.

"You want him to stay in the tunnels for the duration? That'll be just great for him. But, hey, maybe you can get in some father-son bonding, so I guess you're okay with that."

LeBeau deserved the vitriol. He knew it. But it still stung with injustice. After all, he never would have…. If only Hélène had… If he had just used a bit of common sense…

There were so many 'if's. So many 'would haves' and 'could haves'. But it was too late for that now. He had to live in the present, with the reality of what he had done and all the consequences that came with it.

"You've done some stupid things, LeBeau, but this? This?"

"I know." LeBeau hung his head. There had to be some way to put this right. He couldn't bring back Vahlen, but Hélène? Yes. He could go out and look for Hélène. Bring her into the tunnels where she would be safe. And then she and Henri could go to London and wait for him.

"Hélène. I will go look for Hélène," LeBeau announced and then started towards the emergency exit.

"Stop."

At Hogan's command, LeBeau stopped mid-step and looked over his shoulder to see Hogan barely holding back a tidal wave of rage.

"You are going to the cooler. And you will stay there until I sort this whole mess out," Hogan said. "And after that, we will discuss your place on this team."

LeBeau's instincts told him to argue. To say Hogan was being unreasonable. That this whole situation was unfair. But he knew it would all be in vain. A falsehood his brain had conjured up to deal with this because he knew the truth would crush him.

LeBeau looked to Kinch and Carter for some support, but they averted their gaze.

With a sigh of defeat, LeBeau slumped his shoulders and trudged to the cooler. He dismissed his placeholder with a simple "go", and settled into the rock hard cot.

As he looked up at the ceiling, he felt a tear slip down the side of his face.

What had he done? What had he done?!

With one thoughtless action, motivated by his own hurt and anger, he had destroyed so many lives in a flash.

This was all his fault, and he would never forgive himself. He could only pray that one day Hélène and Henri could find it in their hearts to do what he could not.

But again, that was his own selfishness talking. Of course they wouldn't.

Alone in the cooler, LeBeau wept bitter tears.

* * *

Hogan had to get ahold of himself. He didn't know why his reaction to all this was so extreme. Maybe it was because he should have expected LeBeau to do something stupid like this- well, not _this_ , but there had been plenty of times LeBeau had acted rashly without considering the consequences. Hogan had always managed to clean up the mess and had actually come out on the other side in an even better position. But he should have known that it would come back and bite him one day and he should have done something to stop it.

Maybe it was that this whole situation was so much more serious and ludicrous than any he had had to deal with so far.

Maybe it was because more had been lost than a little boy's sense of security.

Or maybe it was the last straw and had become the focal point for all the stress that had been building up inside him.

Whatever the underlying cause was, Hogan's heart burned with anger. And anger could cloud a man's judgement, as LeBeau had so clearly demonstrated.

So, once LeBeau had left, Hogan let out a long breath.

God, he was tired.

"All right, I'm going to talk to the kid," Hogan said.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Kinch asked. "I think he trusts me."

Honestly, Hogan wished he could send Kinch alone and have him break the news to Henri. It would certainly be the easy way out. But he was the leader, so the responsibility fell to him. Still, it would be nice to have Kinch's steady presence in the room.

"I could use the backup," Hogan admitted.

"All right. Let me just finish sending these messages."

Hogan waited patiently until finally Kinch got up from his equipment. Together, they made their way to Henri's cell. They found the boy in Newkirk's lap, his face buried in his chest. His body shook and he was hiccuping as if he was just coming down from a fit of tears. Newkirk was gently stroking his hair. He looked up when they entered.

"I told him, Colonel," Newkirk reported. "I told him that the Gestapo found the people upstairs and Vahlen…"

Hogan couldn't help the relief he felt. Newkirk was getting a raise.

Hogan knelt down in front of Newkirk and gingerly placed his hand on Henri's back. The boy stiffened, but slowly pulled away from Newkirk and looked over at him.

"Henri, I'm sorry."

Henri sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve."Mother said this might happen. She said I needed to be brave." His lip quivered. "But I do not feel brave. Oh, monsieur, where is my mother?" Tears clung to the corners of his eyes, threatening another downpour.

Hogan gently grabbed Henri's arm, stroking it with his thumb. "We're going to find her. But I _know_ you can be brave. Like your mother. Like… your father." Both of them. As livid as he was with LeBeau, there was no denying he was brave. One of the bravest. And his blood flowed through Henri's veins.

He saw it now. The resemblance was remarkable. No wonder LeBeau had reacted so strongly. Not that it excused what he did.

Henri sucked in a shaky breath, hiccupped and then nodded. "I will try."

"Good." Hogan thumped him on the knee. He looked up at Newkirk. "Did you tell him about London?" Newkirk shook his head.

"London?" Henri said curiously.

Hogan managed a half smile. "We need to keep you safe from the Gestapo, so we're going to send you to London."

"London." Henri rolled the word around in his mouth. "That's in England."

"Yes."

"And there are no Gestapo there?"

"None," Hogan assured him. Henri sighed in relief and then smiled. "You'll like it there, I promise. You'll be safe."

Henri matched his smile. "Merci."

Hogan's smile faltered just a little. Henri seemed to be under the impression they had rescued him from the Gestapo when, in reality, the only reason the Gestapo was involved was because of them.

But Hogan didn't feel the need to clarify. It would just confuse Henri more and, most likely, turn him against them. And it would be much easier if he would cooperate with them.

Maybe one day, when he was much older, they would tell him the truth.

Or maybe not.

If they did, any chance LeBeau had to connect with his son would disappear. Maybe LeBeau deserved that. But then, maybe _no one_ deserved that. Hogan didn't know. He supposed what happened, happened. But it would be a long time before they had to deal with that. Their most pressing concern was to keep Henri safe and ship him off to London.

And find his mother.


	12. Adieu

"Now watch. Watch." Newkirk tapped his deck of cards, then split it and pulled out a card. "Is this your card?"

Henri scrunched his face. "Yes. But I still did not see."

"Okay, no problem, little mate. Let's go over it again."

Hogan smiled as he leaned up against the dirt wall of the tunnel, watching Newkirk try to explain his magic trick again. Over the last few days, Henri had warmed up to them and had proven himself to be a bright little guy, but he couldn't seem to be able to wrap his head around magic tricks.

LeBeau had obediently stayed in the cooler. Hogan knew he couldn't keep him there forever- for one thing their sentence would end soon- and he wasn't sure he wanted seemed cruel to keep him away the whole time. Hogan wasn't sure he would allow LeBeau to divulge the true nature of his relationship with Henri, but he should at least have the chance to interact with him. Hell, they were so much alike that maybe Henri would figure it out himself.

From Kinch's radio there came a series of beeps. Kinch, who had been trying to figure out Newkirk's trick along with Henri, got up and put on his head set. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and began scribbling. Kinch looked up at him and frowned, then his eyes darted over to Henri. Hogan felt his stomach sink.

The beeping stopped and Kinch tore off the paper and handed it out to Hogan. Hogan took it and read it over. It was from Olsen. It was short, but certainly not sweet.

_Gestapo shot Frau Vahlen outside Dusseldorf. Confirmed dead. Maid whereabouts unknown._

_Sorry._

Hogan crumpled the paper and tapped his fist against his forehead. He looked over at Henri who was trying to shuffle the deck of cards in his little hands. Newkirk was watching him with an amused smile, but when he glanced over at Hogan, the colonel saw that he knew something was wrong.

Hogan smoothed out the paper on his chest and left without a word. He didn't stop until he reached the cooler. He wiggled through the narrow passage to LeBeau's cell.

LeBeau was sitting up in his bed, watching the entrance expectantly. "Colonel?" he said as soon as Hogan was through.

Silently, Hogan handed over the paper. LeBeau grabbed it eagerly. Hogan watched his face fall and met his gaze as he looked up in horror.

There was nothing to say.

Hogan had been wondering what sort of punishment he could give LeBeau, but the look on the corporal's face told him it wasn't necessary.

This was punishment enough.

Hogan left him alone with his thoughts. When he got back to the radio room, Newkirk and Henri were gone. Hogan knocked on Kinch's desk.

"Alert the sub. We'll send Henri and the information along tonight. Newkirk can hand him over to the underground. They'll take him the rest of the way."

"Sure thing, Colonel," Kinch said, the light words clashing with his heavy tone. "At least… At least London will get the information about the sun gun. That'll make them happy… That's a win, Colonel."

Hogan choked back a bitter laugh. "Yeah, they'll be happy. Maybe it'll even pull my bacon out of the fire. But, Kinch, we both know there are no winners here."

* * *

LeBeau hung back as Newkirk knelt in front of Henri and helped him with a heavy wool coat. Newkirk had managed to cobble together a suitable travel outfit for him to replace his thin pajamas.

Henri scowled and batted Newkirk's hands away. "I am not a baby!" he insisted. "I can do up my own jacket!"

"Right. Sorry mate," Newkirk said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Monsieur Papa Bear," Henri said, looking up at Hogan, "did you find my mother?"

Hogan shook his head and LeBeau arched an eyebrow. The Colonel had apparently decided to withhold that information. Not that LeBeau could blame him. It was too much all at once. And Henri needed something to hold onto.

"But we'll send her along as soon as we do," Hogan said, sounding for all the world like he believed it himself.

Henri nodded, accepting it as truth.

"All right, this is it," Hogan said. "Listen to Newkirk. He'll pass you along to some good people who will keep you safe. And then you'll take a submarine to London."

The prospect of going on a real submarine filled Henri's eyes with excitement. "I will be good," he promised.

Hogan gave him a half smile and ruffled his hair. Unsurprisingly, Henri scowled and swatted his hand away.

Hogan stood back and nodded to LeBeau who stepped forward and knelt down in front of Henri. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to him. A thousand things he wanted him to know. But he couldn't say any of them. Not now. Maybe one day. Maybe never.

"Monsieur Henri, bonne chance," LeBeau said, holding out his hand. Henri shook it. "I promise, when the war is over, I will come to England and give you that cream puff."

Henri looked confused for a moment. "Oh. Yes. I forgot about that."

"I did not," LeBeau assured him with a weak smile. He looked him up and down, memorizing every detail- his too small body, his too big ears, his deep brown eyes, his unruly black hair. Gingerly he held his hand up and then gently rested it against the boy's cheek. Henri gave him a strange look, but otherwise didn't protest. Then, before he really had a chance to think about it, LeBeau pulled him into a great bear hug. He thought, maybe, he could smell a bit of Hélène's perfume on him.

All too soon, Henri wriggled out of the hug, pegging LeBeau with the same strange look as before. But then the look melted and was replaced with cautious curiosity. Henri tilted his head and then carefully reached out and mimicked LeBeau's earlier action by placing his hand on LeBeau's cheek. LeBeau turned his face and kissed it. "Bonne chance. Bonne chance, mon fils. Adieu."

Henri dropped his hand and looked up at Newkirk. Newkirk smiled and patted his back, shepherding him forward.

LeBeau watched him go and felt his heart crumbling.

He would never get the chance to tell Hélène how sorry he was. He would never be able to say all the things he wanted to say, or ask all the questions he wanted to ask. She was gone. And he would never get the closure he desperately needed.

But, maybe, one day when the war was over, he would find Henri. He would confess and beg forgiveness, and he would tell him his mother was a hero. And, even if Henri wanted nothing more to do with him, LeBeau would be the best father to him that he could.

One thing was for sure: Louis LeBeau would never be the same again.

The End


End file.
